


Excrucio: Niccolò Machiavelli

by MissScaryKitty



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Betrayal, Childhood Friends, Complex relationships, Daddy Issues, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Family Drama, Past Relationship(s), Plotting, Regret, old flame, social climber, social climbing, stubborn protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23227003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScaryKitty/pseuds/MissScaryKitty
Summary: Machiavelli returns to Firenze to liberate it from the chokehold of Savonarola and his fanatics. While he is there he receives a letter from Lorenzo requesting he sees that his mistress is delivered safely to him in Roma. It would have been a simple enough task if only the woman in question were not Vittoria, daughter of La Volpe.
Relationships: Niccolò Machiavelli/Original Female Character(s), Niccolò Machiavelli/Reader
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I, like the rest of the world, have been cooped up in my home with nothing to do. What have I chosen to do with my time? Play Assassin's Creed and write fanfic on said game. What can I say, thing A led to thing B and here we are.  
> There's not enough Machiavelli fic out there and he's an incredibly interesting character who has a network of interesting connections within the narrative of the game. Perfect story-writing material. I wrestled with the narrative of this fic far more than I should have for a lonely fandom. But hey, this was also a writing exercise.  
> Please let me know what you think down in the comments or just leave kudos if you enjoyed this. I have 1 or 2 more chapters coming and then the story is FINISHED.

Niccolò recognized her the moment his dark eyes caught sight of that copper hair. Vittoria, daughter of La Volpe, mistress of Lorenzo de Medici and famed beauty of Firenze. Though she tried concealing herself in the corner of the tavern; having forgone her priceless jewels and wearing a simple umber frock, it was impossible for Niccolò to miss her.  
Vittoria’s storied climb to power had become legend in Firenze. It was rumored that Lorenzo had been crossing the Ponte Vecchio with two of the Signoria when Vittoria stopped him in his tracks with a single glance. Those golden eyes, filled with fire had ensnared him. Some say she possessed enchanted eyes like her father and was capable of bewitchment. Not only did Machiavelli find this claim to be laughably ridiculous but he also knew it to be false because not only did the assassin know Vittoria well, he was there with Lorenzo that day.  
Vittoria, clever as she was, had strategically placed herself in Lorenzo’s path. She had charmed him with her coy smiles and sharp wit. The young woman was an educated commoner, an intellectual with a Venus-like façade. Therefore, she was an exciting oddity to a man of Lorenzo’s privilege. The bait was far too tempting for him to resist.  
Before she and the banking mogul parted ways, he insisted on buying her the book she’d been admiring at one of the stalls. He gave it to her with the promise they would discuss its contents one day soon. Vittoria had not only left the Ponte Vecchio with a copy of Dante’s The Divine Comedy, but a future paid for and secured by Medici money.  
It was not long after their meeting that Lorenzo had gifted her a villa and paid for all of her expenses. Furthermore, he was often seen in public with her at events and even weddings. Needless to say, Vittoria da Firenze was synonymous with the word scandal. There were many who loved her for it and many, many more who hated her. Vittoria was no witch like people claimed, but she had become a cunning player in the game of advancement and politics. Niccolò would argue those gifts were far more dangerous than any supposed magic she was accused of possessing.  
However, those same rumors of witchcraft swirled around her like a tempest now that Savonarola had risen to power and chased Lorenzo and his family out of Firenze. She had no protection, save that of her father’s name. But that bridge had been burned years ago as a direct result of her alignment with Lorenzo de Medici, for it had broken the strategic marriage La Volpe had arranged for her.  
Looking at her now, Niccolò could only surmise that the half-drunk decanter of wine in front of her current means of coping with her precarious position. It appeared that emptying her goblet was the only task distracting her from her troubled mind. Even so, her dark expression suggested that she was drowning more in her thoughts than in her cup.  
As fate would have it, the day after his return to the city, Lorenzo had sent Niccolò a message requesting him to see Vittoria safely to Roma. Despite knowing her desire to stay in Firenze, Lorenzo wanted her out of danger. Niccolò, however, doubted he could convince her to go.  
The assassin briefly scanned the room for Savonarola’s men. Finding only thieves, courtesans, and their potential clients, he began to weave his way through the crowd between tables, chairs, and dice games towards Vittoria’s table. He had to admit, he felt anticipation stir in him as he approached. It had been months since he had seen her, much less talked to her. He couldn’t imagine how their conversation would go. She might ask him to leave straight out, but he hoped there was some semblance of friendship left between them. Niccolò wanted it to be so, and he never much wanted anything from others.  
As if she could hear Niccolò’s thoughts, Vittoria’s amber eyes flicked up to meet his dark gaze.  
“Messer Machiavelli?” She asked before offering him a polite, albeit, short-lived twist of her lips. Even though their past history was more than complicated, she still felt her heart race in the assassin’s presence despite herself. She very much hoped he could not read her feelings as plainly as she felt them. “It’s been some time since you’ve been in Firenze. Tell me, how do you like our new tenants?” she inquired, her tone edged with sarcasm.  
“Buona sera, Vittoria.” Machiavelli greeted. “I was attempting to make us allies in Forli only to come home and find Firenze rotting from its enemies within,” he told her, not hiding his displeasure.  
The copper-haired woman considered the assassin for a moment. They were always on the same side of every argument, always in agreement regardless if their reasons for being so were different. She wasn’t sure if that was more comforting or frustrating to her. Mostly, she felt a dull ache for the loss of the closeness they once shared. It was true that they were still allies through Lorenzo, but as far she she knew they were no longer friends.  
“Come, I cannot discuss the matter further without more wine,” Vittoria stated before motioning to the seat beside her and signaling the serving maid for another glass. Once Niccolò was settled in and had a full goblet of wine in his elegant hand, Vittoria raised her cup.  
“To your return, Signore. Your council has been sorely missed here,” she told him canting her goblet so it tapped the lip of his before taking a sip.  
Even without the trappings of her status, she was still beautiful, he thought. She looked just as she did in the days before she caught Lorenzo’s eye; when he would find her by Il Porcellino fountain in the market, scribbling lines of poetry in the small red book she always kept with her. Thanks to Lorenzo’s patronage, her poems were now published and well-known in Firenze. But before that time, in quiet moments, she would share her work with him. He loved glancing up from the page of her little book and seeing her cheeks burn red and her amber eyes fixate on anything that wasn’t him as she nervously waited to hear what he thought. But what thrilled him the most was knowing that the words she invited him to read were the secrets she kept from all eyes but his. No one had ever trusted him so implicitly before.  
He was glad to see her work get properly recognized. However, when he first thumbed through a copy of her book, what he felt was bittersweet. It wasn't so much that the title was "Excrucio" and that the bulk of her work obviously alluded to him. It was the fact that the intimacy they had once shared was now lost. It was a bitter medicine to have to swallow. One more piece of their time together was gone.  
“Gratze, Vittoria,” he told her before taking a sip of his wine. He was genuinely grateful for her sentiment. He could not help but feel partially responsible for what was happening in Firenze. If only he had gone with Ezio to retrieve the Apple, this disaster might have been avoided.  
“Tell me, did you ride in from the East or the West?” She asked, her gaze fixed on him. Her eyes were alight for reasons the assassin well understood.  
“The East,” he replied grimly.  
He’d seen Savonarola’s followers building large pyres along the road and the ones already reduced to clotted mounds of ash from burnings already carried out. These pyres were not for vanities but for sinners.  
“Thou shall not suffer a witch to live.” She muttered. Those eyes burned brighter than he’d ever seen them. Just one glance at them and he could feel her fury at what was done to those women. “Is this what it’s come to, Niccolò? The loss of all sense and reason?”  
She had not spoken his given name in some time and it surprised him to hear it fall from her lips so easily. Back then, she was simply La Volpe’s daughter- the bright young woman who possessed talents her father and brothers could never see nor value.  
Looking at her now, he knew what she was thinking; any of those women could have been her. He could see the worry written on her face. Savonarola’s chokehold on the city tightened every day and she feared she might yet be dragged to a pyre. She was just as much of a symbol of wealth and overindulgence to these fanatics as Lorenzo and his family. Perhaps even worse, because she was something men like Savonarola's followers could not stand- a free woman.  
“You will not be one of them.” He told her decisively, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “I have men already working to liberate the city.”  
“Are my father and brothers among you?” She questioned as she held her goblet close to her, those delicate fingers worrying on the stem. It had been years since she had talked to them. She was certain her father would turn away from her if she tried reaching out and her brothers, being loyal to him, would do the same.  
“They are.” He affirmed.  
“Is see.” She murmured, her gaze wandering from his as she quietly thought on this.  
Again, Machiavelli could see the conflict written on here face and he wondered if she had attempted to make contact with La Volpe at all since breaking off the engagement he had arranged for her.  
“What can I do?” She asked after a quiet moment.  
Niccolò could see the need in swimming in her eyes, the desire to help, but he couldn’t allow it. She was not a fighter and the only way to take the city back now was with blood and steel.  
“We have it taken care of. I’ve received a letter from Lorenzo requesting your delivery to Roma,” he informed her in that pragmatic tone of his; his expression had become stone. “I can arrange an escorted caravan by the morning.”  
“I’m not going,” she stated flatly before taking another sip of her wine for good measure.  
Machiavelli pressed his lips into a thin line, as he leveled his sharp gaze at her, “Vittoria-”  
“I'm not leaving, Niccolò,” she shot back, cutting across him as she abruptly pulled away from her glass. He was intimidating, but she was not going to back down from her decision.  
“You are a prime target for these fanatics,” the assassin argued, trying to get her to understand. “Tell me, why did you not follow Lorenzo to Roma in the first place?”  
She knew leaving Firenze was the most sensible thing to do, but when the time came Vittoria could not bring herself to go. Not even when all copies of her poems were fed to the fire.  
“I can’t just run away. This is my city… and my family is here.” She told him. Her expression grew sullen as she looked down into her cup. She knew neither her family or her city wanted her at the moment, but she still wished to fight for them. “I don’t know why, but I have to bear witness to this nightmare and to help put an end to it if I can. I'm not completely powerless.”  
Niccolò let out a frustrated sigh. The situation was far from ideal and he did not like the fact that he was leaning towards letting Vittoria have her way. It was not like him at all to indulge others in their foolishness. But what was he to do, drag Vittoria to Roma against her will? He had already hurt her enough. In fact, he was the reason she became Lorenzo’s mistress and ended up in this precarious position. If he could protect her from Savonarola’s men, he would at least feel somewhat better about his part in all of this. But he couldn’t force her to go, could he? He had once promised himself he would not interfere in her happiness again. The way things were going in Firenze, Niccolò did not know if he could keep it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò remembers the day he lost Vittoria's love.

Niccolò remembered the day he had lost Vittoria’s love. He had gone to meet La Volpe at the Thieves Guild to discuss a mission. When he arrived, she had intercepted him before he could knock on the door. Before he could speak, she motioned for him to be quiet as she desperately pulled him around back and into the kitchen. There, with barely a breath left in her lungs, she despairingly told him of the marriage her father had arranged for her. Its purpose was to join her family and the Thieves Guild in Venezia. The news was shocking to Niccolò.  
From what he had observed, La Volpe’s relationship with his daughter had been defined by distance. Her two brothers, Luca and Paolo, received the bulk of his attentions, being trained in the tools of the trade, while Vittoria was mainly left to her own devices. For whatever reason, La Volpe was never close with Vittoria, and unlike the Order of Assassins, women were not accepted in the Thieves Guild in Firenze. Therefore, La Volpe did not know what to do with her other than copy what other fathers did with their daughters. Marriage was the next logical step.  
“Did you know?” Vittoria asked, fighting to maintain her breath. Niccolò held so many secrets, she only prayed he had not been keeping her father’s plans from her. She didn’t know what she would do upon learning such a betrayal from someone she held so close to her heart.  
“No, this is the first time I’m hearing of it,” he told her, truly shocked by the news.  
“Graze dio,” she sighed a wave of relief washing over her as she leaned her hands against the large kitchen table.  
Niccolò watched in concern as she tried to calm herself down. She was like an animal in a trap, he thought; panicking and terrified of what was to come next. It infuriated him to see her like this. If La Volpe were there at that moment, he did not know if he could keep his composure.  
“Why would he do this?” He asked, outraged.  
Niccolò needn’t even have asked that question, however. He already knew the answer. Vittoria was never going to be left alone to her life of books and poetry. The idyllic world she built for herself, writing by the Il Porcellino and grabbing snatches of wisdom from the books he loaned to her, was temporary and existed only as long as her father allowed it. Eventually, she would have to fall in line with what was expected of her. Still, his heart ached for Vittoria. He wished, very selfishly, that she could remain as she was forever.  
“What would you do if you were in my position?” She asked him, turning her amber gaze to his.  
Niccolò regarded her for a moment and sighed before he took up a decanter of wine from the counter and poured her a drink.  
“I was in your position,” he told her before he filled up a glass for himself and set the decanter on the table. “Married too soon and without a choice. It happens to most everyone.”  
Vittoria frowned at his pragmatic answer. It was not helpful in the least. She knew he was married and that fact always played a part in the polite distance she put between them, but he never mentioned his wife. Perhaps he did not wish to risk the fragile nature of their friendship.  
“You never told me what happened to her,” she murmured, uncertain she wanted to hear his answer.  
“I can only assume she is fine,” Niccolò shrugged. A wry expression crossed his sharp features as he took a sip of wine. “When I told her about my life as an Assassin, she left Firenze to live with her family in Toscana.”  
“She abandoned you.” Vittoria stated angrily.  
“Not many women are willing to be the wife of an Assassin. Besides, it’s safer for everyone this way.” He told her, pointing out the simplicity of the arrangement.  
“I know I shouldn’t be mad at her, but I am,” She told him. They deserved so much more; she thought bitterly as she dug her nails into the waxed surface of the table. “We’re all just chattel to be sold off to strangers- to marry them and bare them children.” Her last words were spoken with an edge of revulsion.  
The thought of her being used in such a way set Niccolò's teeth on edge. It was sickening. What if her husband turned out to be a brute? Did La Volpe even bother to learn a thing about him? He knew these were Vittoria’s exact concerns as well. Even if her husband wasn’t ungallant, the thought of anyone touching her felt like a blade being punched between his ribs.  
Vexed by his stoic silence, Vittoria desperately cried out to him. “Do you not realize I’ll be sent off to live in Venezia? Does this not upset you?” she demanded.  
“Of course it does!” He snapped, shocked she would even imagine it wouldn’t.  
The two drew quiet then, each wrestling with their troubled thoughts. Machiavelli felt a sting of guilt begin to spread through him, he had not meant to react so harshly. But the revelation of her marriage, the fact that she was to be torn from him and their beloved Firenze was unthinkable. After taking a moment to regain his composure, Niccolò spoke.  
“Let’s say you were free to choose in life, what would you want?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. It was all he could do to maintain composure.  
Vittoria quietly ran her finger down a deep knife gouge in the table, her amber eyes glistening with tears she did not wish him to see as she battled with herself to tell him the truth. Her feelings had gone unspoken for so long; only written down on pages she didn’t dare allow him to see. Saying them aloud now was nearly impossible.  
“There are so many things I want, Niccolò. But wanting is so dangerous.” She explained, her eyes locked on the table for fear if she looked at him, he might see the truth in her eyes. “The way I feel scares me.”  
“Why should you be afraid?” He asked, stepping towards her until they were standing merely a breath away.  
"Because I have always wanted the impossible," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper.  
He could see the tear tracks on her cheeks she was trying to hide and before he could say a word about them, Vittoria threw her arms around him and buried her face in his black robes. Niccolò responded without thought as he immediately enfolded her in his arms. She was warm from her exertions and smelled of rosewater. He held onto her tightly, trying to make up for years of having never held her. There were so many times he imagined doing just this but held back out of propriety, not-to-mention respect for her father. Now that she was in his arms, he could not imagine what could have been so important that he ever denied himself this. Taken by the moment, he pressed a longing kiss into her copper hair as she buried her face in his chest. It was then he heard her whimper her confession.  
“I love you.”  
Niccolò pulled back to look into those amber eyes, glassy with tears and filled with years of unspoken yearning. He was certain his own gaze reflected that same desire as he gently placed his hand on her cheek and captured her lips in a soft kiss. It began as the ghost of a touch until Vittoria wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, making every caress undeniably real. Niccolò buried his fingers in her unbound copper locks, savoring the divine feel of her body against his and the sweet taste of her lips.  
Niccolò wanted to take her from that kitchen and away from the people that would attempt to steal the fire from her eyes. The thought was so tempting and he would have done it if it were not for the sharp stab of warning he felt in his chest. Suddenly, his mind flooded with a thousand sobering thoughts as the rational side of him took over. This moment they shared could never be their reality. Realizing this, he broke away from her lips.  
“Niccolò…” Vittotia called to him, concerned by his darkened expression. However, he could not be pulled back under the spell of the moment. Not now that he realized how this would end for them.  
Machiavelli knew nothing could sever his marriage. Even if Vittoria were willing to become his mistress, and that he did not want to put upon her, it would mean breaking her engagement and creating a rift between her and her family. The two of them would make an enemy of La Volpe, turning the relationship between the Order of Assassins and the Thieves Guild upside-down. Even if all of this was done, he could not offer her anything but the promise of his loyalty. She would have it of course, but as an Assassin, there was always the risk he could be discovered or killed and then she would be ruined. In the end, their affair would leave her with nothing.  
“Vittoria, we cannot do this,” he told her, regretting the words as soon as he spoke them.  
Vittoria grew deathly pale as she slipped her arms from around his neck.  
“Please don’t say that,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper as those amber eyes pleaded with him.  
"Think of what our choices will do to those around us," he told her, trying to get her to understand. "We would be destroying alliances not just within the Thieves Guild but between the Guild and the Assassins. Not only that, Your family would be torn apart."  
Vittoria shook her head. Even if he was right, she did not want to listen to him. She couldn't give him up- not now. “There has to be a way. My father cannot expect me to marry if he knows I love another."  
"He can and he will," Niccolò told her sternly. He knew La Volpe did not appreciate the time he spent with Vittoria to begin with. They were allies but the trust there had always been shaky. If the thief knew the true depth of their feelings, he would ensure Vittoria would not only marry the man of his choosing but that she would never return to Firenze.  
"Will you not fight for me?" She cried, her eyes glassy with tears. She wanted to scream, to pound her fists against his chest but all she could utter was, "Where is your heart?”  
Niccolò frowned as he took her hand in his. His heart was with her. It always would be. But he could not tell her this. He had to protect her. Not only that, he had a duty to the Assassins- he swore an oath. She had to understand this. Still, it did not hurt any less.  
“Vittoria, I will always be married and you will always be La Volpe’s daughter. We can never be together," he told her before letting go of her hand.  
It felt as if he had just torn his own heart from his chest.  
Vittoria felt as if she were free-falling into nothingness as she realized Niccolò would not change his mind.  
“Then I am ashes,” she whispered before she hurried out of the kitchen.  
It took every ounce of steel in his bones not follow her. He knew he would regret this choice every day that followed, but it was imperative he see it through.  
The next time Niccolò saw Vittoria it was at a bookstall on the Ponte Vecchio. She had looked right through him and gone straight to Lorenzo. She had no more reservations, no more self-doubt or fear- and she had struck her mark better than any veteran assassin. It nearly killed him to witness it. But even after Lorenzo had taken her to his bed, he could not allow himself to be angry with her because he turned down their love for the Assassins. This was the world they lived in. This was the life that the men who ruled her would allow her. Her freedom was hard won and it certainly was not without sacrifice. La Volpe shunned her, her brothers soon followed in their father's example, and those in the Thieves Guild all but pretended she never existed. That day she snatched her future from Fortuna's hands was the day Niccolò promised himself he would not interfere in her happiness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was enjoyable. I'm a sucker for impossible romances. If you liked it, leave a comment or kudos. Make my quarantine less lonely lol


	3. Not the Devil You Think

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Niccolò learns the real reason Vittoria needs to stay in Firenze and it hits him harder than he thought.

Vittoria held her goblet so tightly she was sure her knuckles had grown white from the strain. She was not about to let Machiavelli cart her off to Roma and certainly not because Lorenzo asked him to. Of all the people he had to contact, it had to be Niccolò, she thought bitterly.  
She never told Lorenzo the depths of their relationship and certainly never would. It would ruin her. But he knew that they were aquatinted through her father; perhaps he thought since she knew Machiavelli she would listen to him and leave Firenze. Little did Lorenzo know, he had enlisted the wrong assassin to help him.  
Niccolò observed Vittoria’s tense demeanor from his place across from her. He could tell the more they talked the more uncomfortable she became. If he was being perfectly honest, he wasn’t exactly comfortable himself. It had been years since they talked so plainly with one another much less had the chance to be alone together.  
Out of the prying eyes of the nobles and politicians, there were no more polite façades to hide behind. All manner of emotional protection was gone. They were simply Niccolò and Vittoria now. This was something they hadn’t been allowed to be in years. It was situation that both of them had been avoiding. It couldn’t be helped under the current circumstances, however.  
Machiavelli understood her position- she did not wish to run from this fight. Still, he could not leave her so vulnerable. The situation with Savonarola was serious and was only growing worse by the day. He was not about to put her on the front lines and she couldn’t wait out the storm because it was only a matter of time until someone came for her. It was best if she left Firenze.  
“Lorenzo is right to want you in Roma,” Machiavelli stated, breaking the thick silence that had settled over them. He wasn’t exactly pleased to admit this, but it was true.  
Vittoria pulled her hands off the table and folded her arms around her middle protectively. She did not like the idea of Noccolò siding with Lorenzo. It made her feel like she was being treated like a child.  
“I know he is right,” she muttered, looking dejectedly into her cup. “But who would I be if I abandoned my home when so many others cannot do the same?”  
Niccolò knew she was thinking of all of the impoverished people she grown up around, the humble station she had risen from, and the women who were burned alive because they had no means of escape. She would essentially be running away. But she would also be safe and that was more important to Niccolò than her pride.  
“You would still be Vittoria da Firenze,” he reassured her.  
“I would be a coward,” she corrected, her gaze flicking up to his. Those golden eyes burned like embers as they dared him to deny it.  
Machiavelli wondered if she thought Lorenzo and the rest of the Medici were cowards for abandoning the city. Did she consider her situation different from theirs or had this tarnished Lorenzo’s reputation in her eyes? Machiavelli couldn’t help but feel a twinge of selfish satisfaction at that thought.  
“Besides, I haven’t been entirely truthful with you,” she admitted, turning her gaze from him. “There is another reason I cannot leave.”  
“What is it?” He asked, curious to learn what she could be doing that kept her so firmly rooted.  
Vittoria bit her lower lip in hesitation, her eyes still did not reconnect with his. She was nervous. “If I tell you, I’d be putting a man’s life in danger. All you need to know is there’s someone counting on my help and therefore I cannot leave.”  
Niccolò’s expression soured at the mention of another man. He did not want to imagine Vittoria would be so foolish as to engage in an affair while still with Lorenzo.  
In order to move on with his own life, Niccolò had tried to take comfort in the likelihood that Vittoria’s arrangement with Lorenzo had little to do with affection. That, even if they could not be together, they were still connected in some way. The idea that she had fallen in love with another man felt like a boot to the stomach. For his affections had remained steady on her, never waning even as the years passed them by. Had the last thread of their love finally been severed?  
“You must forget him. If he is truly a man, he would not let you risk your life to protect him,” he told her sharply, the resoluteness in his tone leaving little room for argument.  
Vittoria could feel the subtle barbs in his words and realized she should have said nothing about Michel. However, it was out there now and she could not take it back.  
“Not everyone can defend themselves, Niccolò.” She explained before taking shallow sip of wine.  
Regardless of what was going on, Niccolò wanted her out of harm’s way so he could focus solely on recapturing the city. He did not need the added frustration of her prideful idealism distracting him. Especially if it involved a man willing to endanger his lover to save his own skin. At least Lorenzo wanted what was best for her.  
He regarded her with a calculating look from across the table then as if they were playing a game of chess and he was about to move his queen in position to strike. The look sent a shiver down Vittoria’s spine as she wondered what he was thinking. She had seen him look at others this way- nobles and the Signoria- when he was trying to best maneuver himself into getting what he wanted. After a moment, he finally spoke.  
“I will make a deal with you, Vittoria,” he told her, leaning forwards in his chair and clasping his hands in front of him. “I will send an armed escort to your villa tomorrow morning for you to travel to Roma. Whether you go or not is your choice- I will not force you. But if you choose not to leave, you will be on your own. The Assassins will not give you any further aid. We cannot afford to spare the manpower.”  
Vittoria felt her face grow hot with anger as his words caused her blood to boil. This was an attempt to scare her into submission and she didn’t not appreciate it one bit. It was like he thought she had been counting on the Assassins to protect her from the beginning when it was Lorenzo who requested their help.  
Besides, she had Michel to think about. She couldn’t just leave him to fend for himself. He was her responsibility. Vittoria was not going to bend under the pressure of Machiavelli’s threat. She didn’t need the Assassins, she thought bitterly. If it came down to it, she would hire mercenaries instead. There was no scenario in which she would stand to leave her city and those who depended on her.  
“Fine, send your escort. Just know it will be a waste of time,” she told him in an angry huff. Reaching into her money pouch, Vittoria yanked out a handful of coins and dropped them on the table. They clattered against the wood as she abruptly stood up from her seat.  
Machiavelli immediately caught her wrist, stopping her retreat. His dark eyes were filled with frustration and anger as her spoke to her.  
“Don’t be a fool, Vittoria. I’m trying to save your life. Despite what you write in your books, I am not the devil out to torture you,” he snapped, knowing even as he spoke he was making a huge mistake.  
Vittoria ground her teeth in fury at his stinging remark. She looked every inch a growling she-wolf about to rip into his flesh.  
“Do not touch me. Do not follow me. Do not send your spies tomorrow. I do not need your help. I never did,” she told him before roughly shaking him off of her. Once she was free, she began pushing her way through the crowd and stormed out of the tavern. She disappeared from sight nearly as quickly as Volpe.  
Furious with himself for what he said, Machiavelli smacked his fist on the table causing the coins atop it to rattle. He knew he should never have lost his temper. It was a gross misstep, but when he had received Lorenzo’s letter he was too confident in himself not to make this personal. Not only had he failed to convince her, he managed to open old wounds in the process. He knew he still loved her and he should have known better.  
His immediate thought was that he couldn’t just let her storm off into the night. So, Machiavelli got out of his chair and did exactly as she told him not to and followed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Niccolo, despite the thick layer of cynicism I really think he is capable of feeling very strongly for people and causes (maybe stronger than most). Also, I know I said somewhere this would only be 3 chapters but I lied... there's going to be a few more. Volpe will show up soon too for a rocky family reunion.


End file.
